I Was There
by writertron
Summary: a message concerning the history of our world, hopefully thought-provoking. rating may be excessive.


I Was There

by Writertron

**AN:** this was actually a piece of English coursework i wrote several years ago. the events portrayed are simply an author's interpretation and are not intended in any way to offend. on a lighter note: any comments on the completely abrupt change of style for the bit about Diana? I can never decide if i like it or not...

_Iridescent colours burst into the brilliant glow of sunrise; light slowly creeps over the shapeless, formless planet of heaving, furious seas. Even as I watch land rises from the savage water, land that on second glance is carpeted in wonderful shades of green and red and gold. Now the air is full of wheeling, screeching flashes of blue and brown and black; the calmed water is suddenly home to gemlike fish which dart to and fro, glinting in the sun. An eerie howling echoes through the wide forests, sprightly deer are past in a fleeting glimpse. Dark shapes swing through the canopy and under the rich loam tunnels are painstakingly excavated._

_I was there, mankind. I was there at the dawn of time. I was there when life was breathed into what you call earth: I was there at creation. It was I who flooded this same Earth, it was I who caused the waters to subside. All throughout history, in the rise and fall of empires, in the establishment and destruction of kings, in the daily, monotonous toil…_

_I was there._

A youth, one of twelve brothers and half- brothers, wakes panting and startled from a strange dream. Seeking reassurance, he steps out of the tent his family calls home and breathes in the cool night air, feeling the sand crumble beneath his sandals. He looks up to the sky, and is filled with an awe that he has never been able to dispel. The bright, clear stars, the softly glowing moon in the seamless blackness of the heavens…

The sheep nervously offer a few maaaahs, curious as to his presence so late. Smiling, the youth absently caresses the silky heads and ears. Suddenly…

"Joseph!" a voice hisses. The youth starts. "What are you doing out here?"

"I couldn't sleep," Joseph replies, seeing that it is his father, Jacob. "I had such strange dreams…" he trails off, shaking his head. Eventually, he gives his father a hug and wanders back to bed.

Now it is morning. Golden sunlight slowly begins to heat up the sand. The camp has come to life. Ten of the brothers are taking the flocks to graze, herding them with the experience of years. The youngest brother is no more than an infant, with his mother in the women's tent.

Jacob calls Joseph over. It is no fault of Joseph's that he is his father's favourite. But he is, and has grown into an arrogant nature. Unaware of his other children's dark mutterings and glances as they depart the camp, Jacob presents Joseph with a magnificent coat of cloth as many-coloured as the rainbow, tears of pride on his bewhiskered face. Joseph exclaims over the extravagant gift.

Not long after this event, Joseph goes to his brothers with some bread for their meal. In a fit of emerald jealousy, they set upon him with a barbaric savagery, tear off the hated coat and kick him into a dry well. Later, despite his pleading cries, they sell him to some passing slavers and do not even watch his stumbling departure, gloating among themselves and counting out the silver, ignoring the niggling doubt which whispers that they had done wrong.

When they present their father with the mutilated coat, soaked in goat's blood, he tears at his hair and wails in inconsolable grief.

_The human they knew as their arrogant little brother was lost forever. I was there._

Moses is told by the slaves that he is not, in fact, an Egyptian prince, but a Hebrew, like them. Filled with horror and fear, Moses flees Egypt and finds a new way of life in the deserts.

Many years, trials and temptations pass, many tears and refusals and tantrums and regrets before Moses finally leads his people out of slavery towards the Promised Land.

The roving nation of Israel camps not far from the land they had been told would be theirs. Several men are sent to scout ahead, a tactic learnt the hard way in the gruelling trek across the unrelenting desert. The men see a great abundance of green things and begin to hope. A land of green, growing plants, after so long in the barren wilderness… a movement catches their attention. Towering figures with huge, booming voices stride heedlessly through the undergrowth. Filled with fear, the men run for their lives, hearts in throats. When they tell the people of their findings, there is much outcry. "Giants!" they exclaim accusingly to Moses. "You have led us to a land full of giants! We never should have believed you. We should never have left Egypt!"

Hearing them, Moses breaks down in despair.

"Why could you not trust in God? He would have given us victory! Now we are condemned to wander for forty long years in the wilds we had almost left behind forever. Now most of us will never see the Promised Land!" he wails.

True to his foretelling, homeless Israel roams for forty cruel years in the desert they could have left, if only they had faith.

_Moses died an old, old man, weatherbeaten and ravaged. He never saw the land he led his people to in such high hopes._

_I was there._

A widely respected man in the province of Babylon, a friend of the ruler of the Medes and the Persians, is dragged before the king.

"What is this?" the king asks, astonished to see his friend treated so.

"You issued a decree that everyone must worship you and you alone," the accusers say, spitefully kicking the man back to the floor. "Belteshazzar prays every day to his god. Everyone has seen him." The man addressed as Belteshazzar attempts to rise. The men turn to hit him again, but the king stops them. Painfully, he gets to his knees.

"I do not deny that I pray to my God, the God of my people and the one true God. I am in full awareness of your decree, set down in the laws of the Medes and the Persians, which cannot be changed. If you find it in your heart to punish a child of Israel for faith in a time when his nation is once more conquered, then I will be punished." The man shrugged.

"Insolence!" one of the accusers hisses, catching the man called Belteshazzar a brutal blow across the head. He falls to the floor, and the king notices with a wince that blood is smeared where he fell.

"He must be punished, my king! Belteshazzar has broken your laws. He denies your divinity!" an accuser murmurs urgently. Reluctantly, the king nods.

"It is true." He turns away, each word heavy as a tombstone. "Belteshazzar shall be thrown to the lions."

The accusers triumphantly set upon the condemned man, dragging him away.

"My name…is…Daniel!" the man cries.

The doors boom shut, and Daniel is gone.

_Daniel survived the night he spent broken and helpless in the lion's den. I was there. I saw him pray, and I shut the lion's mouths._

The doors boom open, rebounding off the walls. The priests look up from their duties, startled at the disturbance. Swarthy, unshaven men, their once-bright armour encrusted in dried gore, stand gawping in the doorway, finding that all their leaders told them of massive riches beyond their wildest dreams could be true.

The high priest strides forward, demanding a reason for their defiling presence in such a holy place. Slowly, deliberately, a soldier in the front rank leans forward and impales the priest with his spear. Irritated, imperious questions turn to screams of agony. Blood drips to the floor. Horrified, the priests tear their eyes from the sight of the dying man to face death of a kind they had never expected.

Slowly, deliberately, the soldiers grin.

The Babylonian army sweeps through Israel, slaughtering those in their path, pillaging and burning and raping and murdering. The Holy Temple is stained forever. The covenant box is burned and a figure of the jeering devil that the Babylonians call god is erected in the most holy of all holy places.

_The Awful Horror had arrived, and I was there to witness it._

_I was there when a shepherd boy sent an opposing army into full retreat; I was there when a prophet took a prostitute as his wife. All throughout the times so long past they are dismissed as myth…_

_I know how it is for a Father to lose his Son. My own child, perfect in every way, convicted and crucified by those who had awaited his coming for so many millennia. I watched, unable to intervene because of my own laws, as, helpless and despairing, he stumbled blindly up that hill. I heard his bellows of pain, I heard his ceaseless, feverish prayers; I saw the tears creep down his cheeks and splash soundlessly to the parched, hard ground, forgotten like one of so many grains of sand in the hourglass of the ages…_

_I was there. I shared in his anguish._

Hordes of angry warriors sit in council. Too long had they sat by and let the white men rape their homeland. Too long had they sat by and borne this new rule. No more. Now was the time for action.

An arrogant officer, his victories gone to his head, leads his army to a hilltop. He is blind to the fact that this is the redskin's land, blind to the fact that he cannot win. In a foolish euphoria, sure that he will win, he surveys the sprawling camp before him. A spiteful smile tugs at his lips. These redskins would never know what hit them. Ignoring the apprehension of his men, who see defeat where he declares it impossible, he orders the attack.

"Let us put this rebellion down now. The redskins will learn."

_General Custer made a ridiculous underestimation. The white demons never had a chance. The triumphant redskins thought that, at long last, they had their land back. I was there._

The heir to the Austria-Hungary Empire is touring Bosnia. A group of Serbian students, resentful of their overlords, attempt and fail to shoot him. Despairing of success, the leader goes into a shop…

When he emerges, it is a simple matter to draw and fire.

_Archduke Franz Ferdinand dies in the arms of his wife. The Black Hand are captured and tortured without mercy. I saw it all._

Cold fears freezing their guts, the men hear the sound they have been dreading: a high pitched whistle blow which portends death for them all. Reluctant and numb, they scramble out of the trenches and begin to slog through the mud and filth, stumbling over the rotted bodies of the comrades that had gone before them.

A single machine gun fires. Ratatatatatatat… Ducking and weaving, screaming in pain, the men begin to fall. Ratatatat… The soldiers are felled like corn at harvest.

_I was there._

Wave upon wave of fighters scream by overhead. The eerie wailing warns people too late. Bombs whistle downwards, blowing gaping holes in the city… people are screaming, running for their shelters. Many never make it. Too few do.

_I was among them._

There is a Hun to port. Yanking sharply in the steering column, the pilot rolls his Spitfire, veering away before drawing a loop in the air and coming down perfectly on the Hun's tail. With a grim smile he stabs down on the fire button. Bullets tear into the Hun's framework and the aircraft spiral groundwards, out of control. The triumphant pilot only has time for a small surge of victory at destroying one who had come to bomb the innocent when it turns sour in his mouth. He had forgotten to check behind his own craft. Butterflies flapping at his stomach walls, he desperately puts the plane into a barrel roll and tries to break to starboard.

_Many pilots of all sides met a stalking death which materialised out of the night- a pilot whose skill surpassed their own. I knew them all._

"Newsflash," a reader announces on the screen.

A car drives at speed through Paris.

"This is an update on the death of the former wife of Prince Charles of the UK…"

It enters a tunnel.

"…it is now confirmed that Princess Diana of Wales was killed last night…"

Others are around it in escort.

"…she was being driven through Paris when the accident happened…"

There is a sudden screeching of brakes.

"…the security services claim that so far there is no evidence that this was any kind of plot…"

The car swerves, helplessly out of control.

"…Our correspondent is at the scene…"

It smashes into the wall like slingshot from a catapult.

"…Yes, here I am in Paris as daylight breaks on a scene of unparalleled grief and honest misery…"

Greasy flames lick the wreckage, spreading over the spilt petrol.

"…Princess Diana of Wales was loved by the people for her heartfelt generosity and selfless caring for others. Today, millions gather in shock and grief, signing books of condolence for the family of the deceased…"

The stench of burning rubber lingers in the air.

"…I have not yet been allowed to enter the tunnel, but the police report that it was a simple car crash that could have happened to anyone…"

Death…

"I think I can honestly say that this is the greatest disaster to befall our nation for a long time."

_I saw it happen._

The building shudders crazily.

"What's happening?" the workers exclaim in alarm. Someone peers out the window. When he turns back, his face has taken on a look of madness.

"Airplanes…" he says in a strangely high pitched voice. "Airplanes have just smashed into the Two Towers."

Then the screaming begins. Tears and terror make themselves known. The smell of burning drifts down from the upper floors. They begin to run.

The firemen are quite high up, taking a rest in a deserted office, when there is an almighty crash. They instinctively know what had happened. The South Tower had collapsed. They look at each other for instruction.

"Right, men. We're going down. Move." The leader says nervously. They begin the descent, inaudible and unspoken fear beating around their bodies. A woman is standing sobbing on a landing.

"I'm not going to make it!" she gasps.

"Boss," one of the men calls. "What shall we do with her?"

The leader hesitates. Every instinct tells him to leave and run, that taking her would slow them down, that it would be suicide… but his duty…

"We take her with us," he says abruptly. "Can you walk, miss?"

"Slowly," the woman stammers, taking gulping breaths of air, latching onto the incredible hope that she might be saved.

"Then that's how we'll go. Slowly."

_Stopping to save this woman meant that the firemen gained an incredible piece of luck. When the North Tower collapsed, they were on the only safe floor in the building. Higher, they died. Lower, they died. I watched them survive._

It is a normal day on the surface of London. Commuters hurry to and fro, heads down, alone and closed to the crowds around them

A single man in among them. He heads to the tube station, a bag on his back, using all of his willpower not to appear furtive or troubled. God willed it, he knew. The infidels, the unbelievers, those who looked at him with scorn and superiority… they would learn.

Across London, four other individuals do the same. All wear backpacks of varying shapes and sizes. All are prepared for martyrdom.

The man boards the train. His fingers twitch nervously, sweat trickles down his spine. It couldn't be this simple, surely? Every moment he is sure he has been found out, that the security services would burst in to prevent his task…

He checks his watch and jumps. It is time. God give me strength, he prays, then grits his teeth and does it.

_The multiple explosions caused many deaths and injuries, but the worst affected was Britain's racial tolerance and trust. _

_I watched this happen, and I wept._

_**Listen, **__you who are the race of man! I was there; all through your grieving, anger, hate and mistrust; all through your love and happiness, your failure and success..._

…_All through every age on this earth, since before time began to beyond the end of the world…_

_I tell you the truth, mankind. I was there._

A human sits comfortably in a chair, wondering how to write of these tragedies, how to portray the simple truth that _**I AM HERE**_.

**AN:** something a bit different, no? any (hopefully inoffensive) comments? concerning other fics, i sometimes toy with an idea for a sequel to "sure i can" but it never develops, sorry to disappoint but i will continue thinking on it and maybe my muse will pounce. i am currently being stalked everywhere i go by half-formed ideas for labyrinth fics, which is most frustrating... i think i might have managed to pin one down onto paper, but i've got to keep a firm hold on it when transferring it to the computer, so bear with me.


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